


Vado Dove Vai Tu (I Go Where You Go)

by CBlue



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Author Has A Huge Praise Kink, Body Worship, Eros Katsuki Yuuri, Illusions To Sexual Themes, Inspired by Eros and Psyche (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), M/M, More vaguely Greek-Lore Drabble nonsense, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:15:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23652952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CBlue/pseuds/CBlue
Summary: Eros is beautiful, a god himself, one of both love and pleasure. Viktor thinks, in the night, that he can feel his lover's touch. He thinks of them as lovers. For how could Viktor be so full of love if he were not blessed by the god of love?
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Kudos: 38





	Vado Dove Vai Tu (I Go Where You Go)

**Author's Note:**

> I've been a long time Yuri!!! On Ice fan but never written for it. Apparently, writing vague Ancient Greek-inspired pieces is the first thing I do in a fandom.... Anyways, this was just something I sort of drabbled out. Now maybe I can go back to writing all my WIPs in my other fandoms, and then make my way back to this fandom ;)) If you wanna come scream at me, check out @corancoranthemagicalman on Tumblr!! (And - of course - the title for this piece comes from Stammi Vicino. Because I'm a helpless romantic.)

The worship of the gods is common. Which deity is worshipped varies from city to estate, like which sort of wine decorates a table, but the pantheon under Zeus’ watchful eye is predominantly those deities that are worshipped. Sacrifices are offered for blessings or boons, whether it be for harvest, happiness, or war. The velvet tongues of mortals cry out their gods’ names and bleed forth on altars all for the sake of worship.

There is another worship of deities too. Sometimes, Zeus graces a maiden or Aphrodite herself frolics with the mortals in their orgies and pleasure. It is a bodily devotion given in touch. It is sacrifice of another kind. Worship of the unfathomable sort. Not even the gods themselves can so aptly describe this thing called love.

There is a young prince by the name of Viktor. He is beautiful and the people love him. Some compare his beauty to Aphrodite herself. His heart shaped smile heightens whispers that he is a god of love. If he is a god of love, there is only one that is so deserving of his blessings.

It is the same one whom he worships. Faithfully, he enters the temple of Aphrodite. In something like blasphemy, he lights candles that do not belong to the goddess. He closes his eyes, words reverent as he offers them to Aphrodite’s son, Eros.

Eros is beautiful, a god himself, one of both love and pleasure. Viktor thinks, in the night, that he can feel his lover’s touch. He thinks of them as lovers. For how could Viktor be so full of love if he were not blessed by the god of love?

The people say nothing of it. If Viktor so chooses to make Aphrodite’s temple his, for his worship, then who are the people to say anything against it? For he is immortal beauty in the mortal realm. He is love and pleasure and good.

Aphrodite tells her son to marry Viktor to the most horrid creature he can find. For no mortal should be compared to a god. She thinks that Eros will take his mother’s displeasure of Viktor’s use of her temple to his own heart. Partially, it does anger him. His mother’s place being desecrated. But he hears the worship so tenderly offered and it makes his cheeks turn to apples.

Eros touches the mortal plain, throwing on a guise and calling himself Yuuri. He is unassuming as not many of the gods are of wont to do unless it is that wise owl who so helped Christophe return to his love after many years of war. He thinks he is hidden and can speak to Viktor’s father, but he underestimates Viktor.

“I know you,” Viktor whispers when they are alone in some hall of the mortal’s estate. “You cannot hide your ethereal beauty from me, Eros,” and Viktor says it like  _ worship _ , like burning candles and offering blood.

“I am Yuuri,” he speaks instead. He knows what his mother has asked of him, but - foolishly - like all of the mortals who gaze upon Viktor, he has fallen for him. “I… I am here to help you be wed.” He says instead.

Viktor’s eyes are the sea and it is traitorous of a thought but Eros wonders if his mother placed the ocean into the depths of Viktor’s skull in the hopes that men would drown in them. “Oh?” Viktor’s proximity is smoke in a temple, flowers against stone. “And would you wed me, Yuuri?”

And Eros is tempted. Tempted by this serpentine desire to take. Instead, he pulls away from the heady devotion pouring off of Viktor in waves. “I am not beautiful enough nor rich enough to take you as my husband,” he offers.

But Viktor is not a vain mortal. Confident - overly so perhaps - but not vain. He takes Eros’ hands gently into his own. “Never have I seen one whose grace rivals the silver of the moon nor whose beauty rivals that of Aphrodite herself.”

Eros wonders if Viktor forgot he accused him of godhood, or if this had been Viktor’s meaning all along. He swallows the thick lump of praise and it feeds him in a way that he had not realized he had been starving for.

“Then you discredit yourself,” Eros whispers gently, “for no mortal has ever been as graceful as the tide nor as breathtaking as the East.”

Viktor’s face flushes like a burning ire all in Eros’ name. He feels drunk on it. Intoxicated by Viktor’s soft worship, heavy devotion of his name. “Take me as your husband,” Viktor pleads, “take me as your husband, for I will know no other.”

And Eros knows he must hide this from his mother. For her anger would scorch the effervescent locks of Viktor’s hair and make the earth tremble beneath those careful feet. Inhaling the scent of the incense of Viktor sacrifice in Eros’ name, Eros takes Viktor’s hands in his own.

“I will take you as my husband,” he promises, “but you must promise me something in return.”

“Anything,” Viktor offers almost carelessly had Eros not seen the pyre patiently burning in his eyes, waiting in offering.

Eros places his own worship to Viktor’s flawless features, an open mouth against the sharp cheek of this breathtaking, gorgeous mortal. “You must not look upon me for two moons.” He speaks seriously, hot breath a warning and promise along the mortal’s soft skin. “You must promise that when the moon rises and I snuff the candle that you will not look upon me.”

“Anything,” Viktor says again, shaking as Eros’ mouth returns his every devotion in the touch of warmth like the sun and softness like silk. “Anything, my love.”

So it is that they are married, and Eros as Yuuri takes Viktor as his husband. They are not physical beyond what once happened on Viktor’s father’s estate, but Viktor feels no less loved. For there is a house, rich with wine and furnished with gold, that Viktor lives in. He does not see his husband, but he feels him laying beside him in the night.

When Viktor’s siblings are finally allowed to visit, permitted and carried to Viktor’s home by Phichit the wind, there comes doubt also.

“Do not let them tempt you or alter your thoughts,” Eros had warned his husband.

But Viktor had been careless. Bored in his contentment.

“What if he is the snake?” Mila speaks, brow furrowed. “You were warned, weren’t you?”

“Love is as poisonous as a snake’s maw,” Georgi bemoans but Viktor knows too well that his brother scorns love in one moment and worships it in the next.

But Viktor’s thoughts on love have always been devotion. Always devoted to his Eros even as he has no temple to sacrifice or body to worship.

“That’s why you cannot look at him,” Yura says unhelpfully, driving the proverbial nail into the coffin and sealing Viktor to his fate. “He’s the snake the prophet Yakov warned you of.”

So that night when his siblings have left and his husband lays beside him, Viktor disobeys his husband. He wants to look upon those eyes that have imprisoned his heart, feel the flesh that draws him. He is married and wishes to be taken by his husband, he thinks. He has been patient.

So when Viktor lights the candle and sees the form he knows too well, he is relieved. There is no snake, and Viktor is unsure if he ever believed it was a snake. He smiles, warmth blossoming in his chest like a flower made of tears and he moves closer to his husband. But the wax of his candle drips, falling to Eros’ beautiful form and the god screeches in pain.

Eros grasps the sheets, wrapping the silks around his body to cover him from the sight of his husband. Tears swell up in beautiful eyes and blotches of red mar flawless skin. “You didn’t trust me,” Eros cries.

“Of course I did,” Viktor tries to reassure. He did not think his Yuuri a snake. He did  _ not _ .

He is mortal, and fear can corrupt even love. But he did  _ not _ think his husband a snake.

“What is love without trust?” Eros speaks in a whisper.

“That is not fair,” Viktor is quick to combat, “for I know you are the god Eros and you did not trust me with this knowledge,” he says sharply.

Eros furrows his brow. “That was not mistrust; that was protection,” he keeps his form hidden in the sheets of their bed, but moves closer. “If my mother were to discover us, she would harm you and I could not bear that.”

A gentle, unsure touch reaches for Viktor as Eros’ image loses its etherealness. Eros makes to pull back but Viktor takes his hand in his own.

“Then I would fight Aphrodite,” he speaks brashly, “or give up my beauty, or anything,” Viktor offers again - that sacrifice at Eros’ altar, “ _ anything _ to have you. To keep you.”

Eros is drunk on that worship, drunk on that heavy devotion and he offers it in kind. Tenderly lays himself bare before Viktor’s offerings. Viktor enters Eros’ temple and stays there well into the morning when they are finished and sated. But it is never enough. Not unless it is forever.

“Forever,” is the boon Viktor asks for.

“Forever,” is the boon that Eros grants him in the form of ambrosia.

  
  



End file.
